


Comparisons

by Dalektable



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Break Up, Elf/Human Relationship(s), Established Relationship, F/M, Insecurity, Racism, Suggestive Situations, mentions of Blasphemous Cunnilingus
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-03
Updated: 2017-07-03
Packaged: 2018-11-22 18:41:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,861
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11386104
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dalektable/pseuds/Dalektable
Summary: Ellana isn't blind to the comparisons people must make between her and certain of her companions. She's aware of the differences between human woman and elvhen women; her body next to theirs is enough to demonstrate that. She has to wonder: is his newness to this kind of intimacy the only reason her body isn't more disappointing?





	Comparisons

Ellana sinks into Cullen's bed, feeling boneless. “I'm going to get us some water,” he tells her, pressing a kiss to her forehead and haphazardly pulling his pants back on and throwing a tunic over his head to be at least somewhat presentable.

She nods and watches him leave with a small smile on her face, taking careful note of the strong lines of his body. He is nothing like the partner she had spent years imagining for herself. Most notably: he's human, and all the differences that come along with it.

Before Cullen, she'd had experience only with other elves. At first, she hadn't realized what a difference it would be. Elves and humans are physically different: so what? The function of all the parts is the same, and the act has the same steps and the same goals.

But the overwhelmingly pleasant tactile sensation of running her hands over a broader chest, wider shoulders, and a more defined musculature had been unexpected. She'd found herself sometimes just enjoying the newness of his body for the sake of its unknowns, often feeling like a virgin again herself.

There are parts of being with a human she had never expected to like, but that she finds herself happy to experience again and again: the scratch of his stubble against her inner thighs and against her cheeks, how much _bigger_ he is than she, how broad-shouldered and defined he is ( though she's sure much of that has to do with being a solider over just being human. ).

She'd been his first, and he her first human: giddiness in experiencing a new body was to be expected, at least in part. Ellana has to wonder, though: is his newness to this kind of intimacy the only reason her body isn't more disappointing?

She isn't blind to the comparisons people must make between her and certain of her companions. She can see the differences herself: Cassandra's graceful curves, Vivienne's wide hips, Leliana's generous breasts. And she is aware of the differences between human woman and elvhen women; her slight body next to theirs is enough to demonstrate that.

Ellana tries not to think about it, groaning and burrowing further into Cullen's bedsheets. She knows she has no reason to doubt that he's attracted to her; he's been dedicated, these past two weeks, to making her belt out syncopated arias in the middle of the night, hands scratching at whatever parts of him she can reach. He's held her as reverently as his very own carnal prophet, hands running over her skin as if memorizing the hills and valleys of it. He has prayed between her legs, wet and eager, until she's crying out at the night sky above them.

She _knows_ she has better things to worry about. Still, she doesn't stop thinking about it, even as she hears him climbing back up the ladder, the soft thud of his tunic and pants falling to the floor, and the heavy, hard sound of a glass hitting the wooden floor.

The bed dips, and there he is again, pressing his body to her back and pressing a kiss to her neck. “What are you thinking about?” he asks, tossing an arm over her to pull them closer together.

“Cassandra's arse,” she says, happy that she's turned away so he can't see her pouting. She feels like a petulant child, and she'd really rather he not experience that side of her.

“Not mine?” he asks, pressing a few more kisses to the side of her throat.

“Nope,” she says, trying to sound flippant. “When you have curves like Cassandra, then come talk to me.”

“You didn't seem to be complaining that I wasn't Cassandra earlier,” he says, and she can feel the smirk against the skin of her neck.

She's quiet in response—there is no teasing response in her for that. Although he doesn't realize it, he's stripped away the defenses she had curled around herself. The problem isn't with him, it's with her. It's with what the world they live in thinks of her. Ellana chokes back a sob, hoping he won't recognize the sound.

She doesn't have that kind of luck; she's bared all to him before: her body, her past, her hopes for the future, her fears and her sorrows and her tears. He knows the sound all too well now, and he uses his larger size to maneuver her so that she's facing him. The concern on his face is enough to bring the tears full-force now, and she's not entirely sure they're all about this; she's been under so much stress. There are times she wants to run back to her clan and forget about being the Inquisitor.

“What's wrong?” he asks, and the tenderness in his voice makes it harder for her to stop the tears that now streak their way across her cheeks, crooked from the angle of her head on the pillow, the tears from her right eye pooling on the side of her nose before overflowing. _Creators,_ is this embarrassing. She could handle crying in front of him over something _warranted_ , and not distress over her lack of curves. When had it ever bothered her before, anyway? She'd grown up with such pride over being an elf: what a wonder that humans can so easily strip her of that with snide words and looks. If time heals all wounds, it also wears away at all resolve. She must not have had enough.

“It's nothing, Cullen,” she says, trying to turn away so he doesn't have to see this. His grasp, however, is steady and firm.

“It's not nothing.”

She presses her lips tight together, refusing to speak.

He kisses her forehead. “You know I'm here for you, Ellana, right?” She knows. Creators, does she know. She can feel it in the soft touch of his hands on her hips, on her arms, the back of her neck as he leans in to kiss her. She feels his love throughout her entire body, like a shiver that curls around her heart.

“I know,” she says, and they settle into a silence that settles heavy between them. After a few minutes, she can't help but speak her mind. She's always been overly honest—her lies are like poorly formed walls that crumble the moment anyone puts any pressure on them. With Cullen, all it takes is a look, a sigh, a long pause. “Do you ever wish I was human? Do you wish I had the...the body of a _human_ woman?”

He pulls back to give her a quizzical look, no hesitation in the answer that follows: “No, never.” There it is in his tone, the implicit _I love you, I could never want anyone but you,_ that devotion that made him such a good Chantry boy. And now, she is his new idol that he lays on the altar of his bed and prays to with teeth and tongue and lips against her skin. His reward comes in the form of moans, thighs clamped tight around his head, his name chanted like a devotional hymn. More than the Chantry ever gave to him, she thinks.

“You never wish I was human so this could be easier? So people wouldn't whisper like they do?” There's no accusation to her voice, only curiosity.

“Not once,” he says, without pause. He doesn't realize it's the wrong answer. ( Is there a _right_ answer? She doesn't know. )

“That's a luxury I have been unable to afford,” she responds, clambering out of his bed and pulling on the first thing she sees, which happens to be his tunic. It falls just long enough not to be completely scandalous.

His eyes darken with lust, despite the bubbling argument. She scowls, if only slightly. “I don't get to ignore that I'm an elf and you're a human. I have to think about it when we're together, to monitor how I act and look. When people's opinion of us--” she gestures in the air between them. “--grows bad, they turn on _me._ I'm the other, you're the familiar. They'll say things about my being Dalish, and a mage. I've already heard whispers that I've _spelled_ you into being with me.”

His face hardens. “I'll handle it.”

“No, you _won't._ ”

“If people are saying these things about you--”

“That's not what it's about,” she says, clenching her hand until her nails bite at her palm and her knuckles are white.

“Then what _is_ it about, Ellana?” His tone comes out harsh to match her own. He's sitting up in bed now, letting the sheets pool around his hips, back straight. She wants him to know what she means without explanation, impossible as it is. She should have fallen for one of the elves in her party--Sera or Solas. But Sera wouldn't understand, would she? And Solas, he loathes the Dalish. As much pride as he has in being Elvhen, there is no understanding being thrown from the life of a Dalish elf into the middle of more humans than she had met in her first 27 years combined.

“It's about what happens to the elves that humans love. As much as you care, the rest of the world isn't there yet. And their anger about something they don't understand doesn't fall on you, as the big, strong human. It falls on me, the elf they all think they can overpower and speak over.” She shakes her head.

“The Commander of the Inquisition and a _Dalish elf_!” she says, trying and failing not to raise her voice. The corners of her eyes tingle, and she hopes he can't see the shine of tears there. “The _human_ Commander,” she adds, voice a bit softer, but with a bit more harsh bitter bite. “Who has every damn woman and man in Val Royeaux swooning without even trying.”

She laughs before he can say anything. It sounds harsh even to her own ears.

“Dalish elf and _Inquisitor_ _herself_ ,” he says.

“That's not the point. You don't get it, you don't _get it._ It doesn't matter if I'm the Inquisitor or a chambermaid. I'm an elf, and that's all most people will see. How can I _compete_ with human women?”

There's a certain appeal for elvhen women to pursue human men: while there's nothing wrong with elvhen men, there's also something to be said for broad shoulders and tall, muscular men. While Ellana had never been curious before herself, she can now easily see the appeal. The whispers elvhen women share of size differences don't hurt, either.

But what's in it for human men other than the novelty? Ellana herself is an example of the average elvhen woman's body shape: not much by way of hips or breasts, long and slender and short of stature. Her rear end is what she has going for her the most; it's small but round, and pleasant to look at.

Still, she knows that human men prefer wide hips, larger breasts. Do they not get bored with their elvish lovers? Do they then leave for good, or do they find or pay a woman to remind them what it was like, if only for a night? She remembers something one of the older women of her clan told her once: _men are not meant to be faithful._

When are these relationships worth it? She doesn't think Cullen has it in him to stray, but how long will he be content to remain with her in the face of maliciousness and her own physical shortcomings.

“I _love_ you,” he says. His voice sounds pinched—almost as if he can't believe the conversation they're having, she in nothing but his tunic, he in nothing at all. “You don't have to compete with anyone.”

“Don't I?” she says.

“You _don't._ ” A pleading tone has crawled into his voice.

“And what happens when you wake up one day and realize you've missed out? What happens when society's whispers get to you? What happens if I wake up one day and realize I've spent my entire life with a man who has _no idea what it means to be me_?”

He opens his mouth to speak again, deny it all.

“Fen'Harel take it, Cullen, I'm a mage, an elf, not Andrastian, and a woman. You have no idea how difficult it is, no _idea_ the kinds of things I've been put through.”

“Let me learn at your side, I can--”

“Creators forbid we have _children._ Who would they be? They'd look human, but for too many humans, half an elf is too much an elf. And among the Dalish, they'd have no place. Even the city elves aren't as keen on half-elf humans as the elf-blooded would like to believe.” She pauses, and the silence takes on a heaviness even her words couldn't carry.

He tries to speak again.

“Maybe this...” she cuts him off, and her voice cracks, and she pauses to redeem her composure. “maybe this isn't worth it.”

“What are you saying, Ellana?”

“I can't. I can't do this anymore. I love you, more than I could have imagined. But I can't be with a human man. It's not going to work, and I don't want you to resent me.”

“Stop trying to distance yourself from me,” he says, and the honesty of his voice strikes something deep in her that she'd wanted to hide.

“ _Don't_ tell me what to do,” she replies, but her voice lacks the sting she begs it to have. She desperately wants to stay, but the voice in the back of her head telling her it won't work is stronger than she is. Fear wins out here, if it cannot win in the rest of her life.

In only his tunic, she gathers her things and leaves, preparing to pad barefoot across Skyhold to her own quarters in the dark. Vaguely, though the pulse thudding in her own ears, she can hear him telling her to at least stay until morning.

She slams the door to his office on her way out.

\---

They become strangers overnight. He tries to meet her eyes over the war table, she deliberately avoids his. Josephine and Leliana exchange looks as she tries not to let it interfere with her decisions, sounding tired as she decides on Cullen's proposed course of action. She cannot let personal drama interfere with their saving the world, as much as she would like to crawl into bed and sleep for a decade, or at least until everything with Corypheus is over.

What she would give to not have been at the conclave, to not feel this self-imposed heartbreak, still wrapped in her own little world out there in the forest. To never understand the extend of human disdain for her kind. To have never met this damnable man.

He tries to get her attention once more as he leaves the room, but she lets him past without acknowledgment, still staring at the pieces on the table.

“Did you and our dear Commander have a lover's spat?” Leliana's voice comes from behind her, and Ellana turns to face the spymaster, although not without trying to neutralize anything on her face.

“We've decided to end things between us,” she says simply.

“Cullen didn't look very much like that was his decision,” Leliana says, as though it were a simple observation about the color of his eyes. “And just when it seemed like things were going so _well_.” She punctuates the sentence with a pointed look.

Ellana flushes; it had only been two weeks since the relationship between Cullen and herself had changed palpably.

“That's none of your business,” she responds once she's gained some composure, moving from the table and brushing past the other woman.

 _Just like Leliana,_ she thinks, _to know things that don't concern her._

_\---_

Dorian can't seem to keep himself quiet about her personal matters either. She's visiting him to keep herself occupied and to forget, albeit temporarily, about the burden of being Inquisitor, about the ending of a relationship. Not—and she reminds him of this—to talk about her heartbreak.

He puts his hands up in defense, perhaps afraid of her zapping him with some of the lightning that comes so easily to her. “I only thought that, as your _best_ _friend_ , Sera be damned, I would give you some advice.”

“I didn't ask for it,” she snaps. Dorian ignores her tone.

“Do you remember when you came to me, horrified, because you realized you were in love with the Commander? I thought you might even run away. Don't you think you might be doing the same thing now?”

“You don't even know why we ended things.”

“I wonder why that is,” he says, deadpan. “If you don't _talk_ about it, how am I supposed to know if it's valid or not? I can only assume it's not, and urge you to reverse your mistake before it's too late.”

“He's human,” she says, so low he almost can't hear it.

“So what?”

\---

She's getting drinks with Sera when she hears about it next.

“Sera, I just wanted to drink away my feelings, not talk about them,” Ellana says, resting her head in one palm and raising her drink to take a gulp. _Fereldan ale,_ she thinks, _was not the right choice._

“It's just, you had a good thing, yeah? And you go and end it. It's a bit like the big, terrifying mage is scared, innit?”

She knows better than to think Sera will understand just because they're both elves. Growing up in the city is different from the life of the Dalish. But still, she tries--

“But he's human.”

“Maybe _you're_ just too elfy.”

\---

She's standing in Sola's room, staring at the door that would take her to Cullen's office, clutching his tunic from the other night in one hand, The sun's long-sunk below the horizon, and she knows it would be inappropriate to visit her Commander in a professional sense so late.

But this isn't about the Inquisition, and she'd be fooling herself to say otherwise.

“Something troubling you?” She hears Solas behind her, and just barely keeping herself from jumping at the sound of his voice.

“If I wanted to talk about it, don't you think I would have?”

“You _are_ wandering Skyhold at night. To me, that seems to start conversation well enough.”

Ellana glares in response, though only long enough to pull her eyes from the door briefly.

“Believe it or not, I do care about you.” She tries not to think about the kiss they'd shared in the Fade, before she'd decided it was a mistake, that she cared about someone _else._ “And you _are_ in my room.”

The teasing is meant to evoke a smile out of her. It doesn't. She does spend a few more, long moments staring at the door.

“He's human,” she says. There is no one within her inner circle who hasn't heard of their split by now, she's sure.

“He is,” Solas says, sounding completely neutral.

\---

When he opens the door to his office to see her standing there, a hard expression settles onto Cullen's face.

“When you ended this, I thought it was understood that you ended _all_ of it.”

She's suddenly aware of what this must look like: she's knocking on his door at an ungodly late hour, when he's dressed in nothing but a simple tunic and trousers. He's undone, buttoned down. It's a sight she's not sure she'll ever get used to, if she even has the chance now.

“I didn't come here for that,” she says, trying to keep her voice steady and firm. “I just wanted to talk.”

“It's a bit late for a talk.”

“I've been thinking for a while. I didn't think it could wait until morning.”

He inclines his head and opens the door wider, and she accepts the invitation.

“Cullen, I--” she starts, finding herself suddenly unprepared, looking into his eyes now. “You must hate me.”

“I could never,” he says, voice much softer now than it had been.

“I was scared. I'm still scared.” He steps forward at her words, looking like he wants to wrap her in his arms, but he still keeps his distance.

“I've been thinking about what you said. I want to tell you that I understand, but I'll never know what it means to be an elf, or a mage, or dalish, or a woman. I, uh, I just wanted you to know that even if I don't understand what it means to be you, I'll do my best to try, and to love and support you.” He looks at her, eyes burning bright. “If you'll let me.”

Her eyes meet his, shining with tears. Now when he steps forward, he doesn't hesitate to wrap his arms around her.

She lets herself be pulled in by his arms, pressing her face against his chest. “I'm sorry. It's so hard,” she sniffles. “It's too hard.” She feels his lips against her hair before she hears him speak.

“It doesn't mean we should give up,” he says. “It being hard might make it more worthwhile, in the end, knowing we had to fight for one another.” He sighs, and the sound is heavy and shuddering; she can feel his entire body shake against hers. "In the Circle, we didn't treat elves any different than we did humans, because all mages are mages. And you know I don't care that you're a mage. It just never occurred to me that the rest of the world might object to us being together because you're an elf. That was my oversight, and I'm sorry for it, Ellana. But I don't want us to give up."

“ _I love you_ ,” he says. “And I'm willing to fight the rest of the world to be with you. I only want for you to feel the same way.”

The way he's looking at her—full of adoration and longing and love—has her breath caught in her throat. This is what she wants, and being without it has made her miserable and irritable all day. Love, she knows, is not enough. So she will be more than in love: hard-working, determined, devoted.

“Do you?” he asks, the silence making his confidence falter.

“I do,” she says, and the words come out of her mouth so quickly she almost trips over them. They're slightly muffled against his tunic, but he must understand what she's saying, because he pulls her back to first look at her, then pull her in for a kiss.

“You're not going to run from me again?” he asks, pulling her close to him again.

“I can't promise anything,” Ellana says, wrapping her arms around him as a silent way of saying _I'm not going anywhere._

“Well,” he says, and his smirk infects his voice. She thinks of how it feels pressed against her own lips and smiles. “I'll have to remind you why you stick around, won't I?”

She pulls back enough to look up at him. “Would you like to start now?”

“Of course.”

**Author's Note:**

> This has been edited since it was first posted. 
> 
> This story has been a long time in the making, and I fear it's underwhelming. Maybe when I have more energy, I'll write some more to it. Ultimately, I just wanted to write something about the difficulties of an elf/human relationship, though I don't think I captured it how I wanted to. Please, let me know what you think! I love reading your comments, whether it's criticism or just letting me know you liked it.


End file.
